


Serendipity in the Worst Place on Earth

by ApolloAttraction



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 04:44:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19863691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApolloAttraction/pseuds/ApolloAttraction
Summary: Adam shares a room with fellow Harvard student Richard Campbell Gansey III at the worst Microtel in business during a snow storm. Fluff Ensues.





	Serendipity in the Worst Place on Earth

“Sir,”

Adam startles violently from his nap. “I’m sorry,” he rubs one eye and looks up at the station attendant standing over him. “What is it?”

“You can’t sleep here, sir,” The attendant says sternly.

“Oh, I know, just nodded off a little.” Adam glances at his watch. “I’m waiting on a connecting bus. It should be here soon.”

The attendant shakes his head. “No more connecting buses tonight. The storm’s too bad and supposed to be getting worse.”

“Storm,” Adam echoes and looks out the window to where no less than a foot of snow is piled up against the glass. “Wait, but I have to get to Cambridge by Sunday.”

“You can see if we’re open tomorrow,” The attendant gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “If you call corporate, they should honor your ticket. But we’re closing down tonight, so you’ve got to go elsewhere.”

Adam pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have a car.”

“Some of the taxis are still running.” The attendant shrugs, obviously getting tired of the conversation.

Adam sighs. “Do you have a phone I could use to call one?”

The attendant reluctantly leads Adam to an employee’s only room and lets him use the landline. It takes fifteen minutes for the taxi to get there, and when it does, there’s no place Adam wants to go except back to Virginia. “Where’s the nearest hotel?” he asks warily.

“20 minutes northwest.” The cab driver says. “There’s a couple Microtel’s across the highway, though.”

“That’s fine,” Adam sighs and they pull onto the main road. He was sure it was salted once, but, judging by the tire tracks criss-crossing over it, that had been a long time ago. The wind plasters snow to the glass, making it nearly impossible to see out the window. Adam wonders how he hadn’t noticed it rolling in. Probably, he didn’t notice it because it didn’t really snow in Henrietta. Milk and bread would fly off the shelves at the mere mention of the word “snow.” A few flakes would be enough to shut down the whole school system. But something like this, with fat white drifts piled high on the sides of the road- well, the whole municipal government would have been quaking at the thought.

The cab rolls to the stop in front of a Microtel no bigger than a block long. The lights were on in most windows, but the neon sign seemed to have burned out. “Are you sure they’re open?” Adam asks.

The cabby makes an indifferent noise and tells him the total.

Adam frowns but pays him without any other questions. Even if the Microtel was closed, he wouldn’t have been able to go much further by taxi and still have enough left over for a room. He pulls his backpack and a small duffle bag from the cab and starts toward the hotel lobby. He’s barely stepped away from the curb when the cabby pulls away, leaving Adam praying that the lobby is still open.

A tinny, mechanical doorbell goes off when Adam pushes open the door. A man not much older than Adam pokes his head out from a door behind the counter and yells “I’ll be right with you.” As Adam gets closer to the counter, he can see that he’s watching some sort of late-night show on a television in the back.

“Excuse me,” he says, polite but very, very tired. “How much is a room?”

The man shushes him without looking up from the show. Adam runs his hand over his face and narrows his eyes at the clock behind the counter. It’s nearly two-thirty in the morning. The door behind him sounds again, the tinny chime of its doorbell piercing right through Adam’s brain. Finally, the man behind the counter pulls himself away from his show.

“Hi, what can I help you with?” He asks as if he were a robot reading from his internal memory card.

Adam eyes the name badge on his shirt and frowns at the name _Tad._ “I would like a room.”

Tad turns toward the computer and punches in a few things. “There’s a first floor, non-smoking room available for eighty-five dollars a night.”

Adam grimaces. Eighty-five dollars is significant, but he figures that there aren’t too many options available. “Ok,” he takes his debit card and ID from his pocket. “Just the one night.”

Tad takes the cards from him and punches in the details. He hands him two pages to sign for the rooming agreement, photocopies the signed pages, and hands them back to Adam with a keycard. Adam steps aside to fold the papers and put them into his backpack.

“Hello!” the man behind him greets Tad, entirely too cheerful for two-thirty in the morning. “I would like a non-smoking room. A double or a king is fine, but I prefer whichever to be a no-pets room, if that’s possible.”

“Sorry,” Tad says, not sounding very sorry. “I just booked the last room for that gentleman over there.”

“Oh, I see,” the man answers, sounding genuinely put-out.

Adam slings his backpack over his shoulder and tries to hurry out the door to avoid the now-awkward situation.

“Wait,” he hears the man call after him. “I know you!”

Adam thinks about ignoring it. He did have an excuse, after all, with the one deaf ear. Still, curiosity gets the better of him and he turns around. “Oh,” he says, recognizing the other man instantly. “Gansey.”

“Adam, right? Parrish?” Gansey says with the confidence of someone who knows they are not wrong. “So strange to find you here in Deleware!”

“Yea,” Adam rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “The connecting bus to Boston got cancelled.” It had taken him less than a semester at Harvard to realize that no matter how hard he tried to hide it, all the legacy students could still smell the trailer park on him. Now he was working on _not_ apologizing for it. He held in the _sorries_ as Gansey frowned at him.

“Such bad luck, that,” Gansey said. “I suppose it was the storm, wasn’t it?”

“Yea, too much snow,” Adam agrees, feeling the weight of his exhaustion pull his accent from him, letting it linger in the syllables in his words.

If Gansey notices a difference in the way he speaks, he doesn’t say anything about it. “I’ve just had some car trouble.” He gestures out to the parking lot where his orange Camaro is sitting. “It’s a bit of a breakdown, actually,” he adds almost sheepishly. “Anyway,” he turns a dazzling smile on Adam. “Tad here has told me you’ve got the last room, and I was wondering if we might be able to share it.”

“Share it?” Adam raises an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Gansey repeats. “I don’t think the Pig is going anywhere tonight and I think it’d be a bit too dangerous to try sleeping in it.” He spares another glance out the window. “I can pay, of course, for the room.”

Adam can’t image Gansey sleeping in any car, yet alone a broken down Camaro in the middle of a snow storm. “That’s fine,” Adam says. “I’ve already paid, so you can just send me half later.”

“Excellent,” Gansey says, making his way back to the reception desk. Tad, who had been eavesdropping on the conversation the entire time, had a key-card ready for him. “Excelsior!” Gansey said, holding up the little plastic square.

Adam led the way around the building and let them into their room. When he flipped the light switch by the door, the overhead light regretfully crackled to life. “Oh,” Adam said, pausing just inside the door to frown at the room. He had expected it to be small, of course, but he hadn’t expected it to be so bare. In the center of the room was a double bed with a dusty rose-colored comforter and a bed skirt that had seen better days. A night stand sat on either side of the bed with one wall lamp and a switch for each above them. Where most places would have hung a TV, the Microtel had instead opted to hang an abstract painting of what seemed to be a sheep eating a hamburger.

“It’s so cozy,” Gansey said, masterfully keeping any disdain he held for the room out of his voice.

Adam shut the door behind him and went to look for the thermostat. He found it in a locked box on the opposite of the room. Adam read the sharpie written on the box aloud, each syllable increasing in irritation: “Minimum heat provided.”

“Well,” Gansey’s cheerfulness finally faltered as he set his suitcase on one side of the bed. “What does minimum heat mean?”

“It means we’re going to be cold,” Adam answers irritably. He pulls his toothbrush from the side pocket of his duffle bag and ducks into the bathroom to change and brush his teeth. The teeth-brushing goes by uneventfully, but he finds himself stuck staring in the mirror when he changes. His pajamas…do not match. The top is an overly large T-shirt he had won in a radio station raffle the summer before. It hung off him at odd angles and left most of his collarbone exposed if he pulled it straight. The green and black flannel pajama pants he brought with him were worn in places, patched up once or twice by an ex-girlfriend who insisted he learn to sew, and stitched a few more times by his own hand after they’d broken up. They are no match for the cold, so he keeps his socks on; the socks, at least, are new.

It’s such a strange thing to be self-conscious about. Another _sorry_ sits in Adam’s mouth, just behind his teeth. He swallows it when he sees the fleece monstrosity Gansey has decided to wear to bed. “Are those avocados?”

“Yes,” Gansey beams. “Aren’t they interesting?”

Adam doesn’t think _interesting_ is a word he would ever use to describe an avocado, but he might use it to describe the choice to wear a grey set of fleece pajamas patterned with smiling, dancing avocados. Maybe that was what Gansey had meant by _Aren’t they interesting?_ But Adam wasn’t about to question anyone’s clothes or general taste in fashion.

“Do you mind if I read?” Gansey asks when it becomes apparent that Adam’s not going to respond.

Gansey had already installed himself on one side of the bed, his legs on top of sheets, but the rest of his things arranged on the nightstand. They hadn’t discussed the sleeping arrangements, but Adam isn’t about to tell _Richard Campbell Gansey III_ to sleep on the floor, and he damn well isn’t going to do it himself with the words _minimal heat_ hanging over his head. “Yea, that’s fine,” Adam slides under the covers of the unoccupied side of the bed. “Just turn off the light when you’re done.”

“Well, I’ve got my wall lamp, if it works-“ He turns the knob experimentally. There’s a small clicking noise and the light sizzles to life- on, but so dim it may as well be off. “Oh,” Gansey frowns at it, his lips pursing just so. “I suppose that could work.”

He sounds so defeated that Adam immediately says, “You can leave the overhead on. I sleep on my stomach anyway.”

“I appreciate it,” Gansey says softly and turns and even softer smile toward Adam.

Adam rolls onto his stomach and folds his arms under his head, burying his face against the crook of his elbow and refusing to look at Gansey. “You’re welcome,” he mumbles against his arm and wishes that anybody else in the world was lying next to him besides _Richard Campbell Gansey III_.

Last semester, they had shared a single comprehensive Intro. to Latin class at Harvard. They’d never actually talked, but it must have been where Gansey had noticed him. Adam, on the other hand, knew exactly who Gansey was before he ever stepped into that classroom. At orientation, Gansey was the one talking to the teachers like peers, mingling with graduate level students at the club booths, and volunteering to go first in all the ice breakers they were forced to play. Adam did not remember a single answer he gave to any of the icebreaker questions or whose hands he was made to hold when they passed an RA around a trust circle, but he did remember Gansey’s dimpled smiles and easy laughter. He fit in with all the other freshmen exactly the same amount that Adam stood out from them. It made Adam uneasy and envious in the same breath. He didn’t know if he wanted to _be_ Gansey or- well, it was best not to think it. It was better to let the thought stay incomplete- forever, preferably, but _especially_ when Gansey was five inches away from him in the last open bed in town.

The morning came too swiftly, with the wake-up call from the front desk cutting through the silent morning like a knife. Adam couldn’t say when he had fallen asleep, but he could recall the precise moment the first ring blared out from the tabletop phone beside him: nine-oh-eight in the morning, eight minutes late, but still roughly one hour before the designated check out time. Adam curses his whole life as he answers, damning every second that had lead him to hear the worst, most brain-wrenching ring tone invented with less than 6 hours of sleep behind him. Somehow, he manages to thank the receptionist before violently returning the phone to its cradle.

“Is it time to get up already?” Gansey asks, propping himself up on his elbows to look over at Adam. Even at nine in the morning, with sleep-mussed hair and sleep-crusted eyes, he looks like he’s been carved from marble, perfect in every imperfection.

Adam needs more sleep before he can start contemplating Gansey’s Romanesque-nose and congress-worthy jaw line. “Check out is in an hour,” he says and throws himself from the bed. He pads across the floor in his socked feet and takes a shower that brings the words _minimum heat_ back to the forefront of his mind with a vengeance. Adam changes into jeans and a T-shirt before popping his head out the door, toothbrush still wedged in his back teeth, and yells, “Shower’s broke. Only cold water.”

“Well, that’s just ridiculous,” He hears Gansey yell back. “These aren’t very good living conditions for a hotel.”

Adam spits a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. “ _Microtel_ ,” he corrects and turns on the tap to wash it down the sink.

“It’s still indecent,” Gansey says with a sigh. “I’ll have to say something.”

Adam snorts at that, but decides not to tell Gansey that would be the _most_ futile thing he could do with his time. He makes his way to the phone and punches in the number he’d written down for the bus station. It rings through once before an automated voice tells him that all services in the northeastern states have been cancelled for the foreseeable future. Adam pinches the bridge of his nose. “Damn it.”

Gansey pauses in pulling on his socks, leaving one hanging half-on, half-off as he pads into the bedroom. “What’s wrong?”

Adam stands from the bed and pulls open the curtains. “The buses are still cancelled,” he says scornfully, turning a heated glare onto the snow outside the window. It had piled up overnight, with the tallest spots being knee-high. Snow was still falling, but more slowly and with smaller flakes. The sort of snow-globe glitteresque snow that Adam’s high school teachers at Aglionby would turn their nose up at and say _Don’t get excited. It’s not going to stick._

Gansey frowns out the window, seeming genuinely uneasy for the first time since he got there. “I don’t think either of us is going anywhere soon.”

Adam does his best not to turn his glare on Gansey and closes the curtains.

“I don’t suppose this place has a complimentary breakfast?” Gansey asks wryly.

Adam takes a deep breath. “I’m going to go talk to the receptionist about extending our stay.”

“Oh, here,” Gansey holds out an Amex black card. “Put the next night on my card. That way we won’t have to split it later.”

Adam takes the card from Gansey without comment. He doesn’t want to know how much money he’s holding. Gansey barely knows him and just handed over the card like it was a five dollar subway gift card. Adam thinks he might just die if he found out there was more than twenty dollars on it, but there must have been because the receptionist types in the payment info and hands it back with a smile.

Adam walks back to the room slightly dazed. He thinks about saying something about handing over an undoubtedly high dollar debit card to stranger, about the absolute idiocy of it, but it’s hard to hold that thought in his head when he opens the door and sees Gansey standing over a hotplate and a pot full of ramen. “Where did you get that?” he asks in absolute awe.

“I had it with me.” Gansey shrugs. “I’ve made you some, too.”

Adam’s brow furrows in confusion. “You had it with you?”

“Yes,” Gansey nods. “I was on my way back from a multi-day caving excursion. I didn’t use all my provisions.” He uses a fork to remove the Ramen and put it into a bowl. “Here,” he holds it out to Adam.

“No, thanks,” Adam says on principle, even as his stomach growls.

“What will you eat then?” Gansey asks, voice full of concern. “I’ve called all the markets and gas stations nearby. No one’s open.”

Adam curses the snow again and takes the bowl from Gansey. “I’ve got some cash back at the dorms once we get back.”

“Well, that’s just silly,” Gansey makes himself a bowl. “It’s ramen. A whole box can’t be more than twelve dollars.”

Adam makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat.

Gansey looks up in alarm. “You’re not choking, are you?”

“No,” Adam coughs. He hands Gansey the black card and adds, “Just marveling at your financial analysis of Ramen.”

“What do you mean?” Gansey seems genuinely confused.

“Ramen is _maybe_ fifty cents a pack.” Adam explains and sits down cross-legged on his side of the bed. “A whole box is about four dollars.”

“Then it’s doubly silly to worry about _four_ dollars,” Gansey says dismissively and joins him on the bed.

Adam holds back a sharp-tongued retort on how _four dollars_ could feed him for a _week_ back home. He recognizes the venom as unnecessary, tells himself that Gansey couldn’t possibly know better, and feels the word _sorry_ crawling up the back of his throat. Adam eats a forkful of Ramen and pushes the word back down to the pit of his stomach where it belongs. “So, caving, huh?”

Gansey nods. “I thought it’d be a better way to spend New Year’s than being shuffled around cocktail parties for people I don’t know.” Gansey must hear the bitterness in his own voice, because he stops and plasters a smile on his face, “Sorry, I know it’s strange to not like free alcohol and cucumber sandwiches; I’m just more of an outdoorsman.”

“It’s okay,” Adam says because he likes the way Gansey’s mask slipped when he complained. “I don’t like free alcohol and cucumber sandwiches, either.”

Gansey smiles, but it’s not the dazzling smile that shows all his teeth or the soft, dimpled smile Adam had seen before. This smile is new- a slight quirk of the lips and a charming, amused crinkle at the corners of his eyes. “That’s a shame, then,” Gansey says slyly. “Because I _do_ have free alcohol right now.”

Adam raises an eyebrow at him. “And cucumber sandwiches?”

Gansey sighs wistfully, “Alas, no sandwiches. Only champagne.”

“Alas,” Adam mimics, holding back a chuckle. “I’m sure it costs at _least_ twelve dollars.”

“More, probably!” Gansey laughs and leans over the side of the bed to rummage through a hiking pack Adam had overlooked the night before. “But I can’t image anyone having actually _paid_ for it.”

Adam hums, “Are expensive bottles of alcohol usually free for you?” It’s the sort of joke he hears from the other scholarship kids at Harvard, others who have found a pride in their lower-class roots that Adam still struggles to accept. It’s out of his mouth before he thinks better of it, but Gansey doesn’t flinch at it and Adam doesn’t feel a _sorry_ nipping at its heels, so he lets it go as Gansey presses a mug of champagne into his hand.

“Just drink a glass with me,” Gansey says. “You’ll understand if you drink it.”

The way Gansey repeated the word _drink_ with a different tone each time should have tipped Adam off to what was to come, but that doesn’t occur to him until he’s swallowing the drink, the liquid burning down his throat and sticking to his esophagus like putrid tar. “Oh my god,” he gasps, wincing as the taste lingers. “I think you’ve poisoned me.”

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” He tilts his own mugs completely back and swallows the champagne like a shot. He coughs and sputters and sets the mug onto the night stand with a clatter. “I though it might be saved,” he says, “If I took it home and made it into a vinaigrette.”

Adam wants to laugh at that, but he’s too busy trying to breathe around the lingering taste. “I’m dying,” Adam says dramatically and sips ramen water from the bowl. “Ew. That’s worse.”

Gansey laughs at him and set his own Ramen on the night stand by the offending cup. “Here,” he pulls a can of coke from the hiking pack and tosses it at Adam.

“Thanks,” Adam gulps it down. It covers most of the taste, but not all of it. “I don’t think that can be saved.”

Gansey leans back against the headboard. “No, absolutely not,” he agrees with a wry smile twisted on his lips. “It’s even worse than I remember.”

“You could re-gift it,” Adam suggests, “To someone you really, really hate.”

“It’s probably better off going down the drain,” Gansey chuckles and sets the bottle down on the floor.

“You’ll mutate the frogs,” Adam says, leaning back on his palms so he can face Gansey.

One of Gansey’s perfect, dark eyebrows arches up. “The frogs?”

“Things that go down the drain return to the ecosystems, often in harmful ways,” Adam shrugs.

“Like _Finding Nemo_ ,” Gansey says plainly.

“I guess.” Adam laughs, “I heard it from my ex-girlfriend first, though; She’s an environmentalist.”

“Huh,” Gansey purses his lips. “How sensible.”

Adam smiles fondly. “She’d like to know you said that.”

“It’s very practical to be an environmentalist,” Gansey says agreeably. There’s a beat of silence, a little too long to be a pause, but too short to be a moment. He adds: “My ex-boyfriend liked Madonna. It wasn’t very practical at all.”

Adam shakes his head, “Isn’t Madonna a little dated now?”

“He’d hate to hear you say that,” Gansey takes his ramen from the night stand and starts to pick at it.

Adam snorts at that and takes a bite of his own ramen. He wonders if it would be too much to ask if Gansey is still single. The Gansey he’d built up in his mind was two-fold. First, the kind of person you would see on the cover of a 1950s _Better Homes and Garden_ magazine. Polo shirt, khaki pants, and standing just inside a white picket fence with one hand flipping burgers and the other tossing a ball to spotted, floppy-eared dog of impeccable but indeterminable breed. Second, the type of person with a smile made for congress and a handshake that greased palms on the way in the door. Both perfect specimens of a model American, but specimens nonetheless.

The Gansey across from him- despite the teal pull-over he’s wearin- seems more _real_ , more _obtainable_ than Adam had imagined before.

“So,” Gansey says, elongating the pause by eating another forkful of Ramen, “Are you with anyone currently?”

“No,” Adam blinks, a little stunned at the question. Surely, it was just well-meaning curiosity. “Blue and I broke up before I left for Havard last semester.”

“Ah,” Gansey gives him a sympathetic look. “School does make things difficult. I’m sure being on an engineering track takes up a lot of time, too.”

Adam’s brain is still trying to determine Gansey’s reason for asking, and he misses part of the response. “What about engineering?”

“Did I get that wrong?” Gansey’s eyebrows draw together, a small furrow of confusion forming between them. “I’m sorry if I did, I just thought I’d recalled you saying you were working on a degree in civil engineering.”

“No, that’s right,” Adam tries not to sound as excited as he feels. Their Latin teacher was a dry, impersonal man who was obviously just trying to make it to tenure. He never asked the students anything about themselves and hardly knew their names, so Gansey _must_ have remembered his major from orientation. A thrilling zing rattles through him at the idea that Gansey had been watching him as much as he’d been watching Gansey. “And you’re interested in Archaeology, aren’t you?”

Gansey beams at Adam, his smile as bright as the sun and nearly warm enough to make Adam forget the frigid room around them. “Yes, though I think I may dual major in History as well.” He sets his Ramen aside again and turns to fully face Adam. “What do you know about the Welsh king Owain Glendower?”

“Nothing,” Adam says, smiling a wry smile of his own.

Gansey seems delighted by this answer, “It’s quite a fascinating story and there have been several archaeological digs that give it credence.”

“Well,” Adam leans forward to listen to him, “Now I’ve got to know about it.”

Gansey launches into the story. It’s equal parts myth and history, but the way Gansey tells it- like an orator of all grand stories, his voice driving the narrative, but pausing and lulling at curious parts, verbally annotating the stories with facts and conjecture like a wild philosopher- is the part that truly fascinates Adam. It’s different from the way he talks to either peers or teachers and there’s something more passionate and fiery about it; it’s an absolutely unkempt adoration for the subject matter that Adam feels awed to see.

Gansey catches himself at the end, winded from telling the tale. “Anyway,” he says, “I didn’t mean to regale you with the entire history of Wales, but it is fascinating.”

The way he says _fascinating_ at the end is softer than the rest of the sentence- a blink and you’d miss it moment of self-doubt. Adam finds it endearing. “You tell the story very well,” he says softly, “It would make a great thesis paper.”

“Oh, well,” Gansey seems flustered, turning his eyes toward the ceiling. “I appreciate that, but it’s really just a special interest, like a hobby. I’m not sure I could write a paper on it and not wring all the magic out of it.”

“It’d be hard to take _all_ the magic from something you’re so passionate about.” Adam moves to lean his back against the headboard, too close to Gansey to be casual, but neither of them says anything about the brush of their shoulders.

Gansey looks back to Adam. “Do you have any sort of special interests in your field?”

Adam’s brain, completely full of mush, thinks _you_ before his mouth catches up and dryly answers, “CASH bonding in Roman Concrete.”

“Cash bonding?” Gansey repeats. “I’m not sure I know what that is.”

“It’s a strong bond that forms between calcium, aluminum, silicon, and hydrogen.” Adam rubs a hand along the back of his neck. “It occurred due to the mixture of lime and volcanic ash. It’s the reason so much Roman architecture is still standing today, but I don’t know if I can make it more interesting than that.”

Gansey hums, “I’m guessing modern concrete doesn’t use volcanic ash and lime, though, so I’d really like to know why we left it if it worked so well.”

Adam doesn’t think he can detail the evolution of concrete with the same fervor that Gansey used to tell him about Glendower, but the imploring gaze Gansey levels on him makes him try. It’s slow going and it keeps circling back to the molecular structure of the concrete until Adam and Gansey end up lying down on their backs, looking up at the popcorned ceiling of the Microtel like it’s a sky full of constellations. Adam traces out the shapes of the ions, designating the larger kernelling as atomic centers and the smaller ones as electrons.

It’s rudimentary, at most a high-school explanation of the structures and their interactions, but Gansey’s eyes follow Adams movements, rapt and hungry for new knowledge. When Adam reaches the end of the explanation and drops his hand between them, their fingers bump together, startling the both of them.

“It’a gotten late,” Gansey says, deliberately not moving his hand.

Adam flexes his fingers, “Should we turn in?”

There’s something reluctant in the way Gansey says, “If we’re waking up at nine in the morning again, then we may as well.”

Adam is the first to pull away. “I’m not looking forward to the wake-up call,” he rubs a hand over his face and throws his feet over the side of the bed. He doesn’t have a second pair of pajamas, so he hauls the same flannel pants and t-shirt into the bathroom to change.

“Would it be better to use a cellphone alarm instead?” Gansey calls from the other room.

“I don’t have a cell phone,” Adam replies, pausing at the door when he hears Gansey still shuffling.

“We can use mine,” Gansey says. “Anything to not bleed from the ears first thing in the morning,” he mumbles.

Adam leaves the bathroom and nods to him. “That’s fine as long as it’s loud enough.” He pauses and side-eyes Gansey’s pajamas. It’s another fleece pair, this one navy blue with crying pineapples. “So, did those come in a set with the others?”

“These were a gift,” Gansey pulls the blanket up around him defensively. He is obviously not as fond of the pineapples as he was the avocados. He blinks at Adam’s pajamas, then offers, “I have another pair if you’d like.”

Adam shakes his head. “These are fine.” He climbs onto his side of the bed.

“Okay,” Gansey takes his book from the night stand and gives Adam a curious look. “I stayed up later than I thought I would last night; I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

“I didn’t notice,” Adam says. He rolls onto his side and eyes the edge of the bed. He had slept nearly on top of it the night before, his side exposed to the shiver-worthy temperature the hotel deemed _minimal heat_. He turns on his stomach and inches away from the edge, letting the blanket cover him. When he folds his arms beneath his head, his upper arm is a against Gansey’s thigh. “What are you reading anyway?”

Gansey turns the book’s cover toward Adam. “It’s on the recommended reading list for my British Literature class,” he explains.

Adam quirks an eyebrow at the title: _A Brief Compilation of Pre-16 th Century Saxon Poetry._ Judging by the thickness of the book, it was anything but brief. “Is it in the original old English?” he asks.

Gansey’s mouth twists, less than amused, “I’m afraid it is.”

“And you prefer Welsh,” Adam notes, smiling up at him.

“Most certainly,” Gansey answers, eyes crinkling in charming way that warms Adam’s cheeks. “It was written by the teacher, though, so I figure its best to power through it.”

“It doesn’t look like you’re powering through it,” Adam says, “That bookmark is in nearly the same place as it was yesterday.”

“Oh, I just kept reading the same stanzas over and over, is all.” Gansey frowns, “When something is difficult like this, I usually have to read it out loud to comprehend it”

Adam presses his cheek to his arm and turns his face away from Gansey. “Then read it out loud.”

There’s surprise in Gansey’s voice when he asks: “It won’t bother you?”

Adam wants to tell Gansey that in the few hours he ever gets to sleep, he has slept through train whistles, car crashes, and a marching band parade, all of which were more jarring and annoying than the soft syllables of Gansey’s old-money accent. He settles on saying, “It won’t bother me.”

Adam closes his eyes as Gansey starts to read. He feels the whole room so much more acutely, the blanket scratching at his waist, the cold nipping at his shoulders, the warm heat where his arm meets Gansey’s leg. It almost feels safe. The light above them casts the room in an amber glow that plays across the back of Adam’s eyelids like a flame in a hearth. Adam unfolds the arm not touching Gansey and crooks it so his palm is by his face, fingers splayed wide, measuring the distance between his shoulder and the edge of the bed. He exhales, body sagging into the mattress. As he nods off, he feels Gansey shift, his leg pressed more firmly against Adam’s arm, brushing fully against his side.

The morning comes with a sigh, stirring Adam minutes before he needed to wake. A slit in the curtains lets in a ray of sun, crystal bright where it reflects off the snow. Adam curls his hand, then flexes it, awareness coming to him slowly as he inhales. There’s a weight across his lower back and a gentle pressure on his side. His feet are tangled with Gansey’s, the wool of their socks catching on the blanket and each other. It’s so warm and comfortable that he doesn’t want to move, but then Gansey’s alarm is chiming and Adam can’t risk sleeping through it. 

“Gansey,” Adam’s voice is soft, more a sleepy grumble in his chest than actual words. “We have to get up.”

“Mm,” Gansey answers, his eyes still closed. “Do we?”

Adam turns his head toward Gansey. For a moment, he is struck by the proximity of their faces, a handful of inches between their noses. Close enough that Adam can truly appreciate the curve of Gansey’s cheek beneath his dark lashes. Close enough to be tempted by the fullness of his lips. Adam’s voice is trapped somewhere underneath the thudding of his heart.

Gansey’s lashes flutter. “Adam?” He opens his eyes slowly, the whole of him coming awake at once with them. “Oh,” he breathes, noticing the space between them. Then again, “Oh!” when he realizes he’s lying on Adam’s side, one arm slung across his lower back. “Sorry,” he says, color creeping along his cheeks as he pulls away from Adam. “I usually sleep like a board, straight as a stick,” he laughs awkwardly. “I don’t know why I-“

“It’s okay,” Adam hushes him. “I didn’t mind, but we have to get up.” He lifts the phone from the receiver, mourning the loss of warmth at his side as he punches in the bus station’s number. He curses when he gets an empty dial tone. “Phone’s dead.”

Gansey peeks out through the curtains, “It’s not snowing anymore; you’d think the lines would have went out when it was worse.”

“It’s probably the room’s line that’s down,” Adam sighs, pulling his clothes from his bag and starting to change. “I’ll have to go ask the front desk.”

The snow hadn’t melted very much overnight, leaving the sidewalks as slick deathtraps as he walked to the welcome desk. “Hello,” Adam calls to the empty room.

Tad pops his head out of the backroom, looking groggy. “Morning,” he says. “Checking out?”

“I don’t know yet,” Adam says, “I’m trying to find out if the Boston buses are running, but the phone’s not working.”

Tad yawns. “Yea, the room lines are shoddy like that.” He tabs through the computer absently. “Looks like all the intrastate buses are cancelled through the end of the week. Roads should be cleared by this afternoon, though, if you want to get a Taxi.”

Adam couldn’t begin to fathom the cost of trying to take a Taxi across state lines. “Thanks,” he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is there a partial refund if I stay past check out, but don’t stay the night?”

Tad shrugs, “Depends on who’s working night shift.”

Adam nods and slogs his way back to the room. When he opens the door, Gansey is dressed in black khakis and a distressingly fuchsia polo, lips moving slightly as he hunches over his book. The idea of sleeping in this frigid room alone is excruciating.

“The buses are still cancelled.” Adam sits down on the bed in front of Gansey’s crossed legs. “But the streets should be clear by this afternoon.”

Gansey doesn’t seem to know what to do with Adam’s sudden closeness. He closes the book and sets it aside. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“It means I’ll be here another night,” Adam reaches toward Gansey and hooks his fingers around the wire frames of his reading glass. “But you could leave out tonight.” He slips the frames off Gansey’s face.

“I’d have to call a tow truck,” Gansey says, his eyes meeting Adam’s. “It might take them a while to get here.” His lips stay slightly parted when he’s done speaking.

Adam sets the glasses aside and presses his palm to the side of Gansey’s face. This could be too much, he thinks. If he stops now, he might still have Gansey as a campus acquaintance or, possibly, even a friend. But he’s had too much sleep, and he’s finally thought it: he wants Gansey. He runs his thumb over Gansey’s cheek bone and Gansey leans into the touch.

“I could stay another night,” Gansey suggests, lips brushing against Adam’s palm as he talks, sending sparks of electricity down Adam’s spine with every word.

Adam leans forward, pressing his lips to Gansey’s for just the ghost of a kiss. “Is this ok?”

Gansey smiles cheekily. “I don’t mind.” 

Adam leans in closer and kisses him properly.

Gansey pulls him into his lap without breaking the kiss, arms wrapping around Adam’s waist. “I’m glad it was you I got snowed-in with,” he murmurs against Adam’s lips.

Adam rests one hand on Gansey’s shoulder and slides the other back to tangle in his hair “Yea?” he asks, his voice a breathy whisper. “Why’s that?”

They fall back against the headboard. “Since orientation, I’ve thought you were extraordinary,” Gansey admits, one hand splayed on his lower back. “I just couldn’t find a good time to tell you.”

Adam laughs, a small elated sound that bubbles from his lips before he seals them against Gansey’s again. They slide down the headboard, shimmying until Gansey’s head is on the pillows and Adam rests on him, chest to chest. “Let me look at your car before you leave.” Adam says softly. “I’m handy. I might be able to fix it.”

Gansey kisses the corner of his mouth, “You didn’t mention that earlier.”

“I was waiting until it mattered,” Adam runs his hand through Gansey’s hair. “It matters now.”

Gansey hums, his lips curling into a lazy smile, fingers pressing small circles into Adam’s back. “Ride back with me to Harvard.”

Adam pauses, putting one hand on Gansey’s chest and curling his fingers into the fabric of his shirt. If they went separately, it would be too easy to go back to the way things were. He could be invisible at school, taking nothing from these days except the history of Owain Glendower’s revolution and the memory of Gansey’s lips. Adam couldn’t bear the thought. “Yes.” It’s a desperate, needy syllable and Gansey cuts it off with another kiss.

Every kiss leaves Adam feeling a little more light headed, a little more drunk. Gansey kisses his lips, his jaw, the tips of his fingers. They end up tangled in the sheets, Adam’s back pressed to Gansey’s chest, their legs twisted together like the roots of a tree. Gansey’s arm is wrapped around Adam’s waist, hand resting heavily on Adam’s stomach. “Can you imagine,” Gansey says softly, his warm breath ghosting across the back of Adam’s neck “If there had been two rooms available?”

“No,” Adam sighs, eyes sliding closed, chest rising and falling in time with Gansey’s breaths.


End file.
